


First Light

by rosegardeninwinter



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 11:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15795789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegardeninwinter/pseuds/rosegardeninwinter
Summary: "I think Mama and Papa can only ignore so many coincidences."Marinette makes some changes; unabashed sugary domesticity.





	First Light

The sun is just coming up, dark violet soaking up the sky beyond the Seine, when the city goes quiet at last. When she was younger, the woman crouched atop a fancy restaurant might’ve bid goodbye to the white insect that flees, purified, from her bandalore, but these past five years have worn out her patience for the troublesome creatures. 

She straightens, balancing on the roof edge, and takes a deep breath.

“Magnifique, comme toujours.” Her partner hops up beside her, lazily twirling his baton in one clawed hand and covering a yawn with the other. “Now I don’t know about you, but I’d like to go back to bed.” 

“I think some breakfast is in order first.” As her adrenaline fades, the prospect of a warm slice of her Papa’s best bread slathered up with jam and butter is very enticing. And hot chocolate. Her stomach grumbles. 

“Why not both? Breakfast in bed?” her partner says with a grin, extending his hand to her. 

She matches his grin. “Race you,” she says and before he has time to react, she’s lashed her bandalore string to a light pole and is flying through the cold February air. She reaches the flat mere seconds before him, undoes the catch of the skylight just in time for him to catch her around the waist and take her tumbling through it with him. She lands beneath him with a soft flump on their couch. 

His disguise melts away into the pajamas he was wearing when the distress alarms rang out. His face is rosy and she can feel that his heart is going about a hundred miles an hour. Her hair, pinned up and out of her way in a neat braided crown, goes messy again as she transforms with a sparkle of light. Clinking noises coming from the kitchen mean the kwamis are raiding the fridge.

“No one hurt,” she says. “Property damage minimal.” 

“Couldn’t ask for much more,” he says, a soft vibration resonating in his chest. It’s ridiculous how easy it is for her to get him purring. Even now, at twenty, she’ll notice him staring at her like they’re those confused, lovesick teenagers who didn’t think their luck could ever be this good. But they’re not those kids anymore … and their luck? Their luck is about to get way more complicated. 

“Adrien?” 

He hums to say he’s listening. 

“I think we should tell our parents.” 

“About?” 

“About Ladybug and Chat Noir.” 

He looks up, searches her face. “You’re serious?” 

“I am. I want to tell them. My parents at least. I think it’s time.” 

The sun is coming up in earnest. Adrien frowns out the window as watery gold washes the flat complex opposite, blinking. 

“But for five years you’ve said - ” He doesn’t seem angry, just taken aback. 

“I know what I’ve always said,” she agrees, “and I meant it. But things have changed in five years. Five years ago I couldn’t have anticipated this.” She runs her knuckle over a scar on his chin. “I couldn’t have imagined we’d be fighting Hawkmoth this long. Or this.” She turns her hand to let the rising light catch her diamond ring, throwing colors. “Five years ago I only dreamed about this.” 

“Dreamed about it, did you?” he quips. 

She doesn’t rise to the bait. She matches his smug look with a sly one of her own. 

“And of course, when news gets out that Ladybug and Chat Noir are having a baby … ” (her husband makes a noise so exactly like a startled cat that Marinette can’t help the laughter that escapes her as she goes on) “… I think Mama and Papa can only ignore so many coincidences.” 

Adrien gapes at her, eyes wide. He’s quivering with shock. “I mean,” he gets out, “when you put it that way.” Then he drops his head onto her shoulder and bursts into tears. 

“Kitty!" The lack of a cheeky pun makes her the tiniest bit nervous. “This is happy crying, right?” 

“My lady,” he says, almost chastising, as he draws back, wiping his nose, “this is ecstatic crying.” 

“Oh good,” she sighs. 

“Your mother’s birthday,” he says. His lashes are wet. “Next week. Let’s tell your parents then.” 

“You’re okay with this?”

“Of course I am. You’re the one who always insisted on secrecy. Besides, we’re going to need a babysitter.” 

“We have to make sure they understand how important it is to keep our identities private, though. For their own safety.” 

“They’ll understand,” he assures her. “Your parents are the best people in Paris, cherie.” 

“Do you want to tell your father too?” she cautiously puts forward. “We don’t have to. Hawkmoth’s used him once before. And I know the two of you - ”

Adrien’s relationship with his father has become even more strained since school. Marinette harbors a quiet hope that the presence of a grandchild might go a long way to mending that relationship, but she doesn’t dare say so yet. She lets Adrien consider. 

“No,” he says after a pause. “No I want to. Since ma mère died … well, I think he’d appreciate the trust. And we can protect him from Hawkmoth. We can protect them all. We will.” 

It’s started to snow, twinkling in the pink dawn pouring through the skylight. The city, their city, is waking up, but Marinette is in great danger of dozing right here, without breakfast, so content is she. She yawns and arches her back, dislodging her husband, who rolls cheerfully onto the rug. 

“C’mon kitty. I think celebratory croissants are in order,” she says, squeaking when he pounces and swings her up over his shoulder. 

“Forget croissants,” he declares, “We’re gonna be parents! We’re going straight to celebratory breakfast cake.”

**Author's Note:**

> oh poor dear children, you have no idea; am I leaving it open for a potential follow up on Gabriel Agreste’s reaction? maybe I am …


End file.
